Choosing
by QuidnamInferorum
Summary: The Winchesters are on a ghost hunt in the lovely Long Island suburb of West Egg. Done for thing-you-do-with-that-thing's Movie Night challenge on tumblr.


Running in heels, no matter how short they were, was bullshit. The full flapper costume she had insisted be as realistic as possible didn't help, either.

"'Oh, Dean, come on, let's go to the party! It'll be _so_ much fun!'"

"Is this _really_ the best time for an 'I-told-you-so?!'"

Dean shrugged, and she didn't need to look up to see the self-satisfied smirk on his face. She squeezed his hand as he continued dragging her along, trying to quietly communicate with him.

The beautiful hallway—gilded and decked out in undoubtedly expensive paraphernalia, flooring, and wallpaper—flew by them as they ran from the ghost chasing them. The sound of the party going crazy downstairs beat through the walls, the music loud and obnoxious.

Dean yanked Y/N behind a door, shutting it behind them.

"Oh, good, the ghost will _never_ get through wood!" she grumbled.

"Shut up," he growled, running over to the fireplace. This was the moment Y/N realized that they had run straight into the master bedroom. As soon as this registered in her head, Dean grabbed a poker from the fireplace and ran back to Y/N, taking a protective stance in front of her.

The ghost appeared in the room a moment later. The ghost, during life, was definitely a handsome man, but who now looked like he had lost a fight with a paper shredder.

He glared at the two of them, a flash of betrayal crossing his features when he saw Dean's left arm protecting Y/N as best he could. The ghost's eyes locked with hers, and it looked like he was holding back tears. "Daisy…just say you never loved him, and we can be together!"

"Her name's Y/N, douchebag," Dean growled, twirling the poker in his hand.

"Daisy…" the ghost cried once more, reaching forward as if to embrace her.

The moment the ghost moved, Dean swung the poker, and the ghost disappeared.

Y/N took that moment to run over to the fireplace and grab her own poker. She turned back to Dean. "For the record," she began. "How often do we get to dress up and just have fun?"

"Going to a 'Roaring Twenties'-themed party is not my idea of fun, baby," he frowned, eyes darting about.

"I think you're just jealous that the ghost of Jay Gatsby _totally_ wants me," she grinned, moving to stand back to back and get ready for the next move.

He scoffed at that. "I think I can take him."

"I dunno, he is _really_ rich. Lots of girls could ignore the fact that he thinks they're his dead lover and will kill them the moment he gets them alone for that."

He threw her a glare at that, and she responded by pressing a quick, close-mouthed kiss to his lips. "Love you!"

"Duck."

She did, and Dean swung the poker once more, forcing the ghost of Gatsby to disappear again.

She stood slowly and turned to where Gatsby had been. "Right. Focus."

"If you can," he winked.

She chuckled as she rolled her eyes.

They continued playing Whack-a-Gatsby for a few minutes more before Y/N turned to Dean and growled, "I swear, if Sam is downstairs partying—"

Dean swung the poker again, as Gatsby appeared between the couple. "Apparently, the guy died alone in his pool, so I can't imagine his grave is anything special."

"There's gotta be a lesson there about money not buying happiness or something, but I can't focus on anything other than this freaking bedroom."

"Right?!" Dean grinned. "Maybe we can take it for a spin when we're done?"

"This is why I love you, Dean: it's like you can read my mind."

Gatsby appeared again and finally flung Dean against the far wall, causing the poker to go flying out of his hand. Dean slumped to the floor, hissing as he held his head, trying to get the room to stop moving.

The ghost then turned to Y/N, who held her own iron poker in front of her like a samurai sword.

"Daisy, _please_. We can go back, be just like we were before."

In a lot of ways, she pitied him. In life, he had worked for years, ruined his own integrity, and completely changed himself from the ground up just to win the heart of his married former-sweetheart. And, in the end, all he had gotten was a bullet to the brain.

However, he had been been taking women for eighty years, and it needed to stop.

"Sorry, Jay, but you can't repeat the past."

A sickening smile spread across his face, and all sympathy she had felt for the man vanished in an instant. "Why of course you can."

He reached for her then, his humanity gone. Y/N reeled her poker back, ready to try and defend herself.

Instead, the ghost of Jay Gatsby turned red.

He looked at his hands as they ignited, then his feet began to burn. "Daisy…?" His voice broke. He sent one, final kicked-puppy dog look at Y/N right before he burst into flame. The small explosion knocked Y/N onto her ass, and from there she watched as he burned away, never to hurt anyone ever again.

A moment of silence passed as Dean and Y/N tried to catch their breaths. The moment was ended by the tinny sounds of _Smoke on the Water_ playing from Dean's pocket. He grunted as he answered, "Yeah? …Yeah, you _definitely_ got him…thanks. Meet you back at the motel," Dean spoke, his free hand running down on his face.

"Dean, we have Baby—how's he supposed to get back?" Y/N asked as she watched the elder Winchester hang up on the younger.

Dean's jade green eyes twinkled as he answered, "We still have a bedroom to try out."

She laughed, falling back onto the floor. "You sure you're up to it now?"

"You might have to do a little extra work, but I'm game if you are."

She sat up and crawled over to him. "How about, instead, we go downstairs, grab some champagne, take it back to the motel, and I take care of you?"

He huffed. "But…but then we won't be here anymore."

She shrugged. "I'd rather make sure you're okay before we do anything," she leaned forward to press a soft kiss to his lips. "Plus, getting our own motel room room is just as romantic."

His hand came up, his thumb running across her cheekbone. "You're awesome."

The smile that spread across her face nearly broke it in half, and she stood awkwardly on her heels. She held out her hands and helped him to his feet. He hissed in pain as he stood. She looked up at him with an "I told you so" look, and he shrugged slightly. "Nothing broken, I promise."

"Better not be. You deserve a reward for taking me to this party."

He grinned, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. As they began walking out of the room, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side.

She looked up at him. "What?" she asked, a little worried and confused by his sudden tenderness.

"You picked me."

"Over a ghost? Obviously."

"No, not just—over _everyone_."

She stopped him then, standing in the middle of the elaborate hallway of the gigantic mansion. She placed a hand on his shoulder and pulled his down so she could press a kiss to his cheek. "Wasn't even a contest."


End file.
